I Drink to the ShatteredHere's to the half-hopes,I Drink to the Shattered3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who lie shallow in their graves,
comatose, their pulse forgotten.
And here's to unrequited love;
impossible thoughts between heartbeats,
the burning pang that follows.
A nod to the empty dreams,
their ankles hobbled, improperly set.
They walk nowhere.
Silence to commemorate the lost cause;
That never leave the womb.
To the broken and sleepless,
inane and insane,
the clueless, the lonely,
the outcasts forgotten,
to you I raise my glass.
Unlit CandlesYour spirit curled with the smokeUnlit Candles3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
towards the ceiling of the funeral home.
This image brought me closure,
and relief that your soul could escape
from the open casket.
When you turned ashes to ashes,
I imagine the release was the same
as when our voices caught
on the hymn's last note
and we all blew out our candles.
Empty LettersI know I'll find nothing,Empty Letters3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but it's worth hoping that
somehow I'll hear from you
though it can't be good for me.
Every day I spend my thoughts
on a hope as false as wooden bones
that you'll take it on yourself
to remember how to talk to me.
We were friends once.
My arms will never tire
of throwing water on this bridge
you've set alight,
but my heart is burnt
and becoming exhausted.
The Ides of AprilOn everyone's lipsThe Ides of April2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the news is explosive;
running hot and red
with cobbled voices.
Some found their legs,
others lost them.
Their eyes are tight.
I shake for Boston.
Exiting DreamsSome mornings my eyes shoot open,Exiting Dreams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I am left gasping because
I have fallen sudden out of dreaming
and didn't expect to land so hard.
With the way my hair splays out,
jigsaw curls twisting this way and that,
I wonder if I passed through lightning
on my way down.
Why else would I wake electrified?
eyes blue and dialating,
grinning at the sun even though
sleep is freedom,
so the daylight's my jailor.
Or maybe it's my savior because
I have heard that if you die in dreams
you won't wake in this world either.
And how many times have I gotten caught by the ankle,
running from a faceless nightmare
only to up and hit the bed,
Sometimes I can't remember,
Perhaps that's the best arrangement.
The DreamingSome mornings I can feelThe Dreaming2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your lips pressed to my forehead,
and when I pull closer I wake
to empty blankets.
That's when I roll onto my back
and close my eyes tighter
to will your form next to me,
though wishful thinking
never made anybody materialize before.
I always hope I'll be the first to manage it.
I have walked with you in dreaming
ten years on and off,
and you found me by chance in words.
We loved without meeting for
Why shouldn't my mind
conjure you here?
For that's most of what we were,
dreams and words,
before you ventured to me.
If I could hold out to holding you,
I should be able to will you here.
We've waited long enough,
it's only fair...
though I suppose that,
while it defies the brain
and sometimes the body it serves,
the heart must at least
obey laws of science.
So I'll unclench my eyes
and roll onto my side,
as I hold onto dreaming
until you're here.
The Half-Way PointWe had fallen together before;The Half-Way Point2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
into love and into sleep
and as I careened from
one consciousness to another
I heard you speak to me.
Your whispers tint my dreaming hours
with rosy kisses and a gentle touch.
And when I hurtle down
through starlight and through stinging clouds,
you catch me as I go.
Through a veil of halfway-dreaming,
I reached out and brushed the wall instead.
I thought you'd turned to stone
and shivering I dreamed you left me
living life alone.
So when I woke I read your words
to reassure me you were well,
and I calmed my trembling like
you would if you were here.
I constantly come to terms
that my soul's hand is holding yours
and find my solace there.
Ninety-nineIt probably feels like a broken sigh,Ninety-nine3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
witnessing a century of repetition and change,
becoming a testament to human tenacity,
and watching too many wars on television.
The nursing home is too sterile for you,
but as your children near sixty,
with problems of their own,
you have no place in their houses.
While everybody visits,
they never stay for long enough.
you are lonely.
Your daydreams are like old jazz records--
sometimes you confuse them with memory.
Were you really such a beauty on your suburb streets?
Did you really love that boy so completely?
Perhaps you have forgotten.
Visible SpectrumYou reminded meVisible Spectrum2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a stained-glass window
that sits perched on its wall
beneath my stairs at home.
Daylight doesn't measure its colors,
it only scatters them down
on the hardwood floor
when the sun breaches the
And daylight didn't measure you,
I saw you and all I could think on
were your mosaic eyes,
the spectrum of your blush;
that they were solid
and more than patterned light.
I cover stained glass with my hands
and colors vanish.
I cover you with myself
and you are vibrant.
HelplessNothing in front,Helpless2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and nothing good in the back.
Only a fool says life is fair.
I know the value of having hope,
but that doesn't do much right now.
My mind feels like it's drowning,
and my eyes want to stream out tears.
Still, I want to be strong enough to
not say "Why Me?"—
though I feel it on the tip of my tongue—
and lose myself in misery,
but the pain hurts
with the haunting, terrorizing memories
of the past it brings,
and it's as if there's nothing I can do to banish them.
Misery is not my friend,
but it sure comes around often.
The world is spinning way too fast;
I'm dizzy and frazzled.
But how do you fight the truth?
I feel what my mind is telling me is true,
but I'm not sure.
I know most of the negative things we think
are never really true, but even if it isn't
there's very little that would change.
Someone pulled a switch on my mind
and then broke the "off" lever;
it's stuck on depressed.
we all wake up on the wrong side of the bed at
September Whispers InAutumn's blowing in;September Whispers In3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it cuts through the warm-butter sun
with winter on its breath.
Were my mind a siren,
it'd be screaming,
warning me of colder days to come.
Broken HushPast the hours of midnight dreaming,Broken Hush3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sky reflects the orange glow
of street lamps keeping to themselves
while the traffic moves like steady rain.
And I am at my window,
my clock hits 4:19 and
I am lost in the morning,
staring down the city.
It's not that I hate the sun, but
I don't want to greet her today,
when the atmosphere is a cracked slate
and all my chalk is broken.
Clockwork LossYou stopped breathingClockwork Loss3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the hour hand froze
and your blood quit running
when the minute hand stopped
and the death-rattle grind
of the second-hand's death
kept time with your empty eyes.
I've twice dissembled your broken watch,
bought new gears and a different face,
and even though your ash is in the earth,
I swear when it ticks
I will hear your voice again.
CountermelodiesWhen it begins,Countermelodies2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it’s like discovering
the decadence of music.
Perhaps your breath hitches
on the cello carrying the countermelody.
It reminds you of their voice,
as they warm spices in the kitchen
and you’d wrap your arms around them from behind,
like the horns come up from under
and saturate the harmony.
Their body feels familiar in all different ways,
a second listen granted to a beautiful movement.
You can’t tell them you repeat
the first song they showed you
because it smells like their skin
If you listen close enough.
And they can’t tell you that
they try to harmonize with your
speaking voice on the phone
because you sound closer that way.
They’ve turned your solos to concertos.
You feel their lips on your cheek and
your hair stands on end like you’ve
heard God on their lips;
their touch is prophetic.
You hold them close and hope they’ll linger
like a violin on a high note,
and you can’t bear to open your eyes
and dismiss the beauty